


Confession

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Series: The Sound Of Silence [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: Following the events of River Grove, John has to tell his sons the truth he has concealed from them for months - the truth about Sam.





	Confession

When Sam made his way to the Impala and not the truck, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He thought he would have lost his mind if Sam had chosen to travel with John. He needed him close, to watch him, to protect him, to make sure he did nothing so damn stupid as pull a gun and put it to his head as if that was a solution to anything when there were people that loved you, people that needed you in the world.

He had been so damn scared, and he wasn’t a man that scared easy. It had been more than the gun that had done it. It had been the resolve in Sam’s eyes and the defeat in his slumped shoulders. Sam was really going to do it. It wasn’t an act of desperation, raising that gun. It had been a thought-out solution to his situation. He had been able to see no other way for him. Dean had been able to see no other way when he had raised his own gun either. While he had been hoping and praying he would reach Sam, he had known that had Sam taken the shot, killed himself, he would have done the same. Call him coward or selfish or whatever other slurs people could throw at him, he would not live in a world without his brother. He was barely coping with what the world was throwing at him lately already. If he didn’t have Sam there to buffer it… Well, that just wasn’t happening.

But it had worked, thank God. Sam hadn’t taken the shot. He still had his brother’s life to protect and his own life to live. They were still fighting. Sam more than anyone now because, as if it wasn’t bad enough he didn’t have his words, he now had the mystery of why he’d been immune to keep him up at night. It was sure as hell going to disturb Dean’s rest. He wanted to know why, after all those people had been lost to the virus, Sam wasn’t affected. It was a gift horse, and ordinarily he wouldn’t be looking for teeth, but with visions and Yellow-Eyes in the game, it seemed like something they should know. And Dean had a feeling he knew where to start looking.

John knew something.

When the fourth hour passed, the hour by which Sam was supposed to have turned, and there was no change, they tested Sam’s blood. There was no trace of the sulfur that was in all the other virus victims’ blood. They’d waited all night, in a sick tableau, waiting for some sign of the virus to manifest, but there had been nothing. They’d waited eight hours, until the sun was creeping into the sky again, but Sam’s blood remained clear. The doctor said Sam had dodged a bullet, but that hadn’t satisfied any of them. John was the only one that seemed unsurprised by it after the first test though. Dean felt sure he was hiding something from them, and he was determined to find out what. Sam deserved to know what it was, as Dean was sure he’d noticed it, too. He couldn’t ask for himself, so Dean would do it for him. He would wait until they were away from this place, and then they would talk.

xXx

Despite what Dean would probably say after what had happened recently, Sam running into a burning building and raising the gun to his own head, Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew he hadn’t dodged a bullet as the doctor said. He knew there was something wrong with him, even he wasn’t infected. He didn’t know why he wasn’t. Pamela had put her blood into him, but it hadn’t worked. He was pleased it hadn’t, he had never wanted to become a monster that had to be put down, but the fact he hadn’t been infected worried him. He needed to know why, and he thought he knew who’d be able to tell him—his father.

From the moment the first clear blood result came in, John seemed to just accept that he was fine, unlike Sam and Dean who waited on tenterhooks the whole time and worried with each blood draw that it would be the one to tag up sulfur. John seemed eager to leave, though Sam refused until the night had passed and he was still clear. Part of that had been fear of what he might become, and another part was that he knew when they did, he was going to have to find a way to ask his father what he knew. He was scared of the answer.

He was riding in the Impala with Dean, John following in his truck. Dean wasn’t talking much. He was obviously tired, having driven to Sioux Falls and then spending a night waiting to hear Sam’s fate, but he exuded a kind of nervous energy. Opposed to Sam, who sat exhausted in his seat, Dean patted his hands on the steering wheel and hummed along to the music.

“You ready for a stop?” he asked.

Sam nodded. He didn’t need the stop as much as he needed to speak to his father, and he thought if he had to wait too much longer he was going to lose his mind.

Dean turned on the blinker and they pulled into a gravel carpark. There was a small convenience store and restroom and past it a field that led to a lake with picnic tables at the shore. Dean pulled them to a stop and they climbed out. John was coming up slow behind them, and for a moment Sam thought he wasn’t going to stop, but he put on his blinker and pulled to a stop beside them.

It seemed to take a long time for him to shut off the engine and climb out, and when he did, he looked tense. “You boys need a break already?” he asked.

“We need to talk,” Dean said.

“Can’t it wait? We’ve got a lot of miles to cover.”

“We’re in no rush,” Dean said. “Are we?”

John shook his head. “I guess not. I’ll get us something to drink.” He patted his pocket for his wallet and then walked into the store.

When he was gone, Dean turned to Sam. “There’s something going on, Sammy. You know that, right?”

If Sam could have formed an understandable question, he would have asked if Dean thought he was dumb. Of course he knew something was going on. He was mute, not blind. 

Unable to speak, he nodded.

“And you want to know what it is, too?”

Sam nodded. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know, but he definitely needed to.

“Good. I’ll get it out of him then,” Dean promised.

Sam walked away, and Dean followed. He forewent the picnic tables in favor of walking to the lake. There was a wooden fence edging the lake, probably designed to keep children safe from the water when they were visiting, and Sam leaned against it, looking out at the lake.

Dean stood beside him and spoke in a low voice. “It’s going to be okay, Sammy. It’ll be better once we know.”

Sam wondered if he was right. Being immune to that virus was worrying enough. What if the reason behind the immunity was worse? Was he about to hear that he really was a freak as he had always suspected?

John came out of the story with three paper cups of coffee balanced in his hands and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He came to them and handed out coffees. “I saw something in the newspaper that I think might be worth checking out while we’re in the area,” he said. “A man was killed by wild animals. I know it’s not the right moon or a werewolf, but maybe a skinwalker? What do you think?”

Sam shrugged, thinking the conversation he feared and needed wasn’t going to happen after all, but Dean spoke firmly. “We can talk about it later. Right now, we need to talk about what happened back there.

John sighed. “I’m sorry, Dean. I made you a promise and I let you down. I let both of you down. I should have been protecting Sam better. He shouldn’t have been driven to that point.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. He didn’t need protecting. He wasn’t completely useless, even without his voice. John had been doing what he should have bene doing—working to protect the civilians—when Sam had been attacked.

“You should,” Dean agreed. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. We want to know why Sam was immune.”

John looked shocked, a little too much to be genuine. “How am I supposed to know?”

“Okay. Maybe you don’t know that, but you know something. We need to know what. Sam deserves to know.”

“I don’t know anything,” John said. “Now how about you drink your damn coffee so we can get out of here and back to Bobby’s.”

Sam frowned. He was definitely hiding something. Why would he want to go to Bobby’s when he’d just been talking about case a moment ago? He was nervous. Sam rarely saw his father nervous. He definitely didn’t cover it so ineptly usually. When he wanted something, he demanded when he didn’t want to do something, he refused outright, as he was shakily attempting and failing to do now. 

“Though you had a hunt,” Dean said.

“Well you obviously aren’t interested, so I thought I’d see you back and then come take care of it myself.”

He took a deep swig of his coffee. Sam could feel through the cup that it was hot, and he thought it had to have hurt his father like hell to drink it like that. The fact he did it made him worry. If John was avoiding the topic this strongly, just how bad was what he had to say?

Dean frowned. “Just say it, Dad.”

“You boys to go Bobby’s. I’ll meet you there when I’ve saved some lives.” John started to walk away, shaking his head irritably. “Maybe then you’ll believe me when I saw I don’t know anything when you’ve have a little time to think.”

He tossed his coffee into a trash can and made for the truck. Dean called after him, but he didn’t slow.

Sam hesitated before following him. This was big, he knew, and John didn’t want to talk about it. That was more than enough to made Sam think he didn’t want to hear it, but he needed to. He rushed after him, reaching him just before he reached the truck. He laid a hand on the door, stopping his father opening it, and stared into his eyes. He could see the fear in John, but he forced himself to be strong, demanding an answer with his stare alone.

Dean jogged up behind him. “Look at him, Dad. I know you don’t want to say it, but Sam needs to hear it. Whatever it is, it can’t be worse that what we’re thinking.”

John sighed and hung his head. “Okay.” He walked away to one of the picnic tables and straddled the bench.

If he thought this was something they needed to be sitting down to hear, it was really bad. John didn’t usually coddle.

Sam and Dean followed him and took seats opposite. Sam tucked his hands in his lap to hide his trembling hands. He fixed his eyes on his father and waited for him to speak.

“There’s more children like you, Sam, this we already know. There was Max, Ansem and Andy, and I don’t know how many more. You all have some kind of power that the demon needs from you, and I don’t know why he needs it. I swear that, I _don’t_ know why.”

“What do you know?” Dean asked.

John shook his head irritably at the interruption. “I’m telling you!”

Sam watched his father as he tried to gather his thoughts and explain. There were deep lines in his forehead and around his eyes. His mouth was downturned. Sam wondered why he hadn’t noticed before: his father was old now, older than he had been when Sam had run into burning house to kill the Demon.

“Do you know why Sam has visions?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do,” Dean pressed.

John scowled as he answered, “Sam, you said that the baby Rose seemed to have some level of telepathy before the demon visited, so I think maybe these are talents you had when you were born, before he came, rather than something…”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Something that came with the Demon. The fact you stopped him before he could get to Rose makes me think she’ll be okay. He won’t have done it to her.”

“Done what?”

Sam froze. Was this the answer he had needed since his father had first told him about the demon? He was scared to hear it, but at the same time he _needed_ to hear it.

John sighed and fixed his eyes on Sam. “Before Dean came to get you from college, I was following clues to a demon. I believed I was close to getting the information at last. That’s why I took off. I needed to keep Dean safe from it. I found the demon and trapped it. It took time because it wasn’t a foot solider like most. It was a part of the Demon’s entourage, and it knew a lot. I had to break it, and that wasn’t a fast process, but eventually, I made it talk.”

Sam didn’t want to think of what the process of breaking had included. He knew his father did a lot in the name of the job that other people wouldn’t be able to do, but it was easier not to dwell on those things. Especially when he was so close to getting some answers.

“What did it tell you?” Dean asked quietly.

“It told me about you, Sam. The night the demon came, when it killed Mary, it was there for you. It did something to you. It was a part of some plan that’s apparently been in the works for years, a way for him to create what he needed from you children—the special children.”

 “What did it do to him?” Dean asked.

John’s eyes became hard. “You don’t want to know this, Sam. I promise you, it’s better if you don’t. You don’t need this on you with everything else. Please, just let me take care of it for you.”

Sam looked at Dean and beseeched him with his eyes to ask again for him. As little as he wanted to, he needed to know, and he could not ask the question himself.

“He can’t do that, Dad,” Dean said sadly. “He needs to know now. You have to let us take care of it together.”

John nodded, his eyes downcast as he said, “It fed you blood, Sammy. It infected you with demon blood.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and a cry of horror rose in his throat. He caught it between his teeth, refusing it freedom. He would not break down again. He didn’t deserve to. That was a human’s response, and he wasn’t human. He had demon blood in him. He was cursed.

Dean put a hand on his arm and Sam shook it away. He didn’t want to be touched. He shouldn’t be. No one should reach for him for fear of spreading his taint. It had already spread too far.

He swallowed hard. It _had_ been there for him, and when it had come, it had murdered. Mary had been killed because of him. Just like Jessica had been. He was a murderer by default. Had he not been a part of their lives, they would never have been killed. He was the reason they were both dead: Jessica, the sweetest and most gentle person he had ever know, and his mother, the person John and Dean told him was just as gentle and kind, had been burned alive for him.

He bowed his head, willing back the tears.

“No, Sam!” Dean said brutally, gripping his arm and refusing to let go, even when Sam tried to pull away. “You’re thinking it’s your fault, right? Mom and Jess, and this… infection?”

Sam nodded. What was the point in trying to hide it? It was better that they knew he was aware of and repentant of his crime.

“It wasn’t!” Dean said brutally. “This is not something you did. It was something that was done to you! You were a baby; you couldn’t stop it. And Jess was the Demon’s crime. You didn’t know what your vision meant. You couldn’t have known it would really happen. You had no chance, understand?”

Sam shook his head. Dean was the one that didn’t understand.

John reached across the table and gripped Sam’s shoulder. “Listen to me, Son. Your brother is right. It was not your fault. It was never your fault. I have blamed many things for what happened to your mother, myself included, but I have _never_ blamed you. Not before, not after I heard what the demon said, not now. You were the innocent. I should have been able to protect you and Mary, not the other way around. And Jessica wouldn’t either, would she? If she was here right now, wouldn’t she be telling you the exact same thing?”

He was right, she would, but that was because she was blinded by love, too. She wouldn’t be able to see Sam’s crime any more than John and Dean could.

He pulled away from their hands and stood. He couldn’t be there anymore. He couldn’t hear their words and know how wrong they were. He was so guilty it was like acid in his, like demon blood.

He walked to the Impala and climbed into the passenger seat. He would sit there, alone, until Dean came to take him away from this hateful place and the words he had heard there.

He didn’t have to wait long. Dean shared a few words with John and they came to the car. He got in and paused with his hands on the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have made him tell us.”

Sam shook his head briskly. He needed to know. He deserved to know. It was his guilt to bear. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
